


What You Deserve

by PastelPills



Series: An Amalgamation of Your Rue [4]
Category: Kagerou Project
Genre: Attempted Murder, Gen, I feel ashamed of myself, I'm so sorry, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Stangulation, This is so fucking awful, This is triggering as fuck I'm really sorry, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 22:39:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6678190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelPills/pseuds/PastelPills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>How pitiful.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Deserve

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted @ [nightmarish-pastelpills](http://nightmarish-pastelpills.tumblr.com/post/143792109291/what-you-deserve)
> 
> Bonus for getting the novel reference, though it's rather easy. Anyways, enjoy something I wrote in one go. This is... 3000 words over what I wanted to achieve.  
> This is just shitty all- around please actually don't read.

She hates coming home, knowing that he’s there, in the same position she saw him before she left for school, in the same position he was in last night, and in the same position she will find him in come sunrise.

She hates coming home-- but really, can she really call this house a “home” anymore when every ounce of happiness has been sucked dry within the last two months? 

She figures not, since it was never exactly a “home” to begin with.

Heart heavy, lips pursed, Momo reaches into the back pocket of her bag to pull out dirty keys to unlock the front door of a single-family home. _Ah, well-- Single-family plus a freeloader, in all honesty._  A low sigh pushes itself out of her as she enters, kicking off her shoes by the door before pulling it shut behind her. During normal circumstances, she would call out to let anyone possibly in the house know that she was home, but as of late, circumstances have been absolute crap and she possess no energy to even up-keep ingrained mannerisms. 

It’s not like he would hear it, anyways. Or if he did, he wouldn’t care, too self-absorbed; too far gone to notice changes in his environment.

But to be fair, just the mere _thought_ of Shintaro and his depressive state fills the back of Momo’s throat with bile, forcing her to do all she can to push it down and distract herself with other things as to not upset herself further.

So she opts for a shower-- the prospect of readily hot water tugging at the corners of her dry lips and unwinding the feeling of impending dread in her chest for the meantime. She knows Shintaro hasn’t showered in days- and her mother probably used it in the morning before heading to her day job-- twelve hours ago. 

Without another moment’s deliberation, Momo grabs the straps of her bag and rushes up the stairs, not caring whether her loud footsteps upwards wakes her brother up-- it would be good if they did; it’s hardly fair that he should have the privilege of sleeping his worthless life away, escaping reality for hours on end.

And-- just to be on the safe side, the girl stomps her way across the landing-  down the hallway, past Shintaro’s closed door and back -to her bedroom before _slamming_  the door, reveling in how the door frame and the world around her tremours from the force.

In about the same time as it takes for her to dress for school upon running late, Momo strips herself of the winter uniform, balling the skirt and throwing it onto the empty desk on the other side of the spacious room, pretending that she was a basketball player making a winning shoot for her team. The same is made of the long-sleeved shirt and her undergarments: haphazardly discarded into some unflattering area of her room. Should any guests ever come for her, they would have to wait in the main room of the house, as Momo’s bedroom was not the cleanest a girl should ever keep. 

 _At least it’s more acceptable than the pigsty Shintaro wallows in,_  she muses, picking up the pink towel she regularly uses from the edge of her unkempt bed, retrieving underwear, a tank top, and sleeping shorts from the dresser besides. The hairpiece is ripped out of her hair- along with a few strands, much to her dismay -the braid wrapping around her hair undone. With nothing else restraining her, Momo wraps the towel around her torso and tucks her clean change of clothing under her arm, opening her door to make her way to the shared bathroom in between her brother’s room and her’s.

Opening the bathroom, what first stood out amongst everything else was the sink, _filled and tinted pink_ , with what she could only assume were bandages floating within. The water had a few bubbles in it, and the soap which was supposed to be resting in the dish provided for it lay at the bottom of the sink, uncharacteristically slimy and bloated. 

Suddenly overcome with a dull sensation of irritation and disgust, not uncommon - almost routine -Momo slams her open palm on the drain plug between the faucets, ignoring how the round head of the plug left an imprint in the middle, sure to bruise in time, and watches unhappily as the pink water hugging the white porcelain of the sink disappeared with a loud gurgling sound. She refuses to touch the bandages, deciding for her sake that leaving them in there to dry would be better. Though, in the back of her mind, imagining something that had the misfortune to lay anywhere on her brother’s sweaty, mangled body sent unpleasant shivers up her spine, goosebumps down her arms, and the taste of bile to stain her throat once more.

 Momo shakes her head, ripping herself away from the sink to the bathtub, a silent prayer on her lips for the tub to not be tainted either. Pushing aside the shower curtains, the tub showed no signs of someone trying to wash away their regrets, however-- it seems to have been recently used, as there were considerably large pockets of water peppering the bottom and the insides of the shower curtain.

Momo releases a short, dry laugh, removing the towel, hanging it around the curtain rod. “He actually took a shower? Good for him.” A step into the tub and a step forward to turn on the shower, Momo allows herself to be enveloped by steaming water; allows herself the luxury of washing off the day’s stress and succumbs to a peaceful calm. The hot water pounding on her skin relaxes her muscles, and the steam she breathes in gives way to the illusion of purifying herself from the inside out, ridding the negative air from her body to replace it for the night.

She spends twenty minutes in the shower, fifteen of which she spends staring distantly at one of the tiles on the wall before her, lost in thought. But she faintly hears her phone go off from the room over, breaking the mini trance she cast over herself in order to promptly respond to whoever attempted to contact her. 

Quickly patting herself dry, pulling on her clothing, and throwing the now-slightly-damp towel over her shoulder to catch excess water dripping from her hair, Momo rushes out of the bathroom into her room to retrieve her cellphone from her school bag. Three missed calls and two texts, all from her mother. She sighs, rubbing her eyes as the evening light has streamed through enough that half of her room is illuminated a starking orange-yellow.

Though she could call her mother back, the bile-taste has risen again, this time a tad bit higher than before, refuting any future attempts for spoken conversations until it dissipates. 

**[ From: Mother ] Are you home yet?  
** **[ From: Mother ] Call me when you are.  
**

**[ To: Mother ] I got home about an hour ago. Just took a shower. Want me to make dinner?**

Just as Momo lay her phone next to her on the floor, her phone went off again, her mother already responding. Opening her phone her stomach dropped and the bile-taste rose, as it never had before, threatening to spill out.

**[ From: Mother ] No, I’ll be home soon to make it. Can you just check on Shintaro for me?  
[ From: Mother ] He hasn’t texted me all day- I’m worried. Was there anything wrong when you got home?**

**[ To: Mother ] He’s probably just sleeping like usual, don’t worry.**

_I should probably tell her about the sink..._  But she doesn’t, for fear of worrying her mother further and guaranteeing her entrance into that dark, cramped room.

**[ From: Mother ] Please check on him. If he’s sleeping, then fine. But if he’s awake try to get him to eat, shower, anything. CALL ME IMMEDIATELY if something happens. I’ll be home in 30 minutes. Love you.**

Momo almost threw up.

God, if there was one thing in this world she would rather forsake completely, it would be Shintaro. Honestly, for all he was worth, he’d be better off in some psych ward in the hospital where trained specialists can deal with him. And who knew what he’d do when she approaches him, if he’s awake. He sleeps with a pocketknife under his pillow-- and him not being in the most stablest of mental states lately, Shintaro could easily hurt her.

Blinking rapidly, furrowing her eyebrows, and gritting her teeth, her phone is tossed towards the bed, yet it falls in the crevice between the mattress and the wall. She seethes, furling and unfurling her fists, feeling her nails dig into her skin, a blind rage nearly knocking her over. But she has to do it, or else her mother will chastise her later for not “ _taking precautions. What if, due to your lack of action, something happens and, because you didn’t check on him, he seriously injures himself or worse--_ ” blah blah blah. She’s heard this shit before, multiple times within the last two months, and she’d rather not have to listen to her mother draw out how important “family” is, no matter what happens.

 _But there’s no such thing anymore. Shintaro has absolutely_ no _concept of what a family is-- he’s shut everyone out. He was the idiot who valued his friends over his family, and now that they’re all dead he’s suffering the consequences. Uhhn, what was the name of that book we were reading in class-- the one where this man put value into the wrong thing and turns into a cretin and dies? That’s him-- or well, that WILL be him if he doesn’t get himself together._

Through with her musings, Momo stands, grunting and mumbling obscenities under her breath all the while she tugs the towel around her shoulders tightly.

Despite how short the distance from her room to Shintaro’s is, her legs throb and ache, as through she ran two kilometres in the span of twenty seconds. The bile in her throat burns with such an intensity that she has to turn away from her brother’s door to gag, wishing to the deities up above for this eroding sensation plaguing her to _go away._ Yet nothing comes- nothing will come, and she’s left to face her immediate trial, regarding the closed door in front of her with unforgiving, vacant eyes.

After knocking once-- only once --she doesn’t wait for a response, knowing that one will never come in spite of the wasted courtesy, and pushes the door open. What she finds surprises her: besides the figure curled up on the bed, wrapped in too many blankets to be considered comfortable and the curtains covering the dimming light pouring from the sole window, Shintaro’s room was... _clean._  The metre-high clothing pile by the left corner was nowhere to be seen; the empty soda bottles and crushed cans of energy drinks which would usual cover the carpet were thrown out; _the room itself didn’t smell like blood, sweat, self-loathing, and despair_.

He tried to do something beneficial for himself, for the first time in two months. He tried to do something, for the first time in two months.

_How pitiful._

Her stomach twists and reckons a feeling of it ripping into itself; her mouth feels dry; she feels as though she’s floating, not exactly in her body but still able to see it from her own eyes. 

Shintaro stirs, dull eyes heavy with too much sleep focusing on the slightly wet girl in front of her. He stares at her, still trying to remember how speaking works to ask her what was up. He yawns, and Momo immediately confirms that he’s had himself a proper shower, as his pillow is damp-- _That must not have been comfortable to sleep on --_ and his usually-oily, black hair retains a seemingly fresh, fluffy air to it. Even though his face is markedly tear-streaked and those ugly dark circles turning his pale face as gaunt as it possibly can be without him being dead, the grime she remembers etched into his pores was gone, and his face practically _glowed_  under the light coming in from the hallway.

Momo- outstretching her foot behind her to gently kick the door shut -crosses the unsettlingly clean room to sit next to Shintaro on his bed-- her eyes widening in even greater surprise when she realises that these are _clean_  sheets and blankets he’s adorned himself in. She stays quiet, looking around the room, clearly avoiding any such eye contact with him for as long as she possibly can.

A few moments pass by before Shintaro is the first to move; an obvious grimace on his face as he painstakingly sits up from his blanket fort. And she thought that he would have been disgustingly clammy, but then the unnatural _chill_  caressed her bare arms and legs, the hairs standing on end. She gulps, offering a glance towards her brother as he yawns in his upright position. Unfortunately, the glance only heightened the squeezing in her abdomen, as she catches vibrant pink hatchings across his arms, soon enough hidden under the covers when he feels her eyes breaking the already-open skin once more. 

Momo then turns to face him, internally cringing when she sees that, unlike every other day for the past two months, some semblance of light has touched his eyes again. _It made her sick_ to think that someone like him could ever feel human again-- as if he were in the first place. But her contempt swallowed, Momo reaches over to smooth out a crease on the _clean_  white T-shirt he wears on his chest, lowering her gaze to absently stare at his collarbone.

“She asked for me to check on you,” she states, clear, abrupt, void of any emotion.  


Shintaro cocks his head to the side, the sliver of orange light bouncing off of the top of his head, turning his dull black hair a light amber, so ill-fitting.

“...That’s something she’d ask you to do.” He sighs, heavy- almost hurt. “I’m okay... I know you hate having to... ah...” he trails off, his head dropping and the sound of fabric rustling resonating through the room.  


Momo doesn’t respond in kind to the unspoken fact. She, however, continues to intently stare at his collarbone, her eyes squinting in the slightest. “Did you clean up today?”

He nods, albeit languid and delayed, swallowing loudly. “I... I took a shower, washed my ba--” A paused, and he turns to look at her, but is taken aback by her unreadable expression. She doesn’t need to look at him to know that he’s afraid, unsure.

“I saw it. You left it and the water in the sink. I drained it.”  


He nods again, grateful that he didn’t have to explain himself. _Not like she’d care to listen, anyhow._

“What else, if anything, did you do?”  


He shifts backwards onto the bed, shrinking away from his sister, as the weight of her vacant stare on him makes him increasingly uncomfortable; on edge.

“....I actually took my medication this morning... Th-That’s probably why I managed to... g-get out of bed.... Momo-- Momo what’s wrong? You’re freaking me out. What’s wrong?”  


And when she snaps her attention to him- and by some sickening force of her nature -he unwillingly gives his. He can’t look away, for as much as he wants to; for as much as his nerves are shot, he feels the anxiety of _fear_  pooling in his chest, burning his sinuses. Those eyes- empty, emotionless -and _red_  bore into him, tearing past skin, muscle, and bone to the wall behind him.

“No it’s just-- why are you trying to live now? Why are you trying to pretend to function when all you really want to do is rot?” Momo continues to stare at him, unrelenting. Shallow exhales and trembling movements later, Shintaro is harshly pushed down, his sister’s grip on his shoulders instantly bruising, the bones creaking from such a sudden movement.  


She glares at him, holding his attention to prevent him from thrashing around-- and it’s quite successful for the moment she stares into those panicked eyes, but the moment, as they say, is fleeting, and he tries to throw her off, but she’s quicker and stronger than he is-- she graciously plants herself atop of him, right onto his midsection to firmly keep his weak frame in place. 

“Momo-- _get the fuck off of me_ \-- what- what are you doing? Get off, _please_ \--!” She laughs, slightly deranged, as he begins to hyperventilate, as his hands attempt to shove her off. She has the good mind to pin them down, but the idea that’s popped itself into her head is more satisfying than anything she might have planned to do. Besides, her weight pinning his body down is more than enough-- he can’t move his arms too much, either way, lest he wants to deal with the physical seering of open wounds.  


“Calm down, calm down. I’m not going to do anything crazy, geez. I’m just going to help you out.”  


He offers a quizzical grunt, his previous attempts at escape effectively stumped when her hands gingerly lay themselves on his chest and glide themselves to his collarbone, just a ways more to his neck. In his confusion, he doesn’t catch what she says next before her hands wrap around his neck, her fingers digging into his skin, _squeezing_.

Shintaro, fearing for his life, returns to thrashing, shoving, twisting his weight- more frantic, more primitive -but she stays, her hands clenching with more vigor as seconds pass.

“This is what you want, right? _Right_?” Narrowing her eyes, she hisses, squeezing as hard as her fourteen-year-old strength can muster, teeth bared in concentration. But the smile brought to her face when she hears him cry--finally, _finally_  choke --makes all of her efforts triple. And her brother’s trademark lifeless eyes sparkle with _fear_ ; wide, watering, and beginning to glaze over. “You’re absolute trash-- no one wants you. Look at you: Why are you crying? Scared? Why? I thought you wanted to die more than anything else. You deserve to, anyways.”  


“You do _nothing_  for anyone but yourself, and even then you can’t even be selfish,” she sneers, her grip on his neck releasing for a fraction of a second to give him his last breath of fresh air to only clutch again, tighter, tighter, _tighter_.  


“You’re a waste of space-- worthless. _Worthless_. I bet you want to give up. I bet you want to tell me to keep going. Well don’t worry-- Oh, don’t you worry... _I’ll make sure Shintaro gets what he wants..._ ”  


Saliva flows out of his mouth, down his chin, and in his final, vain attempt to pry Momo’s hands away from his closing throat, he manages to choke out a broken “stop.”

In response, Momo shakes her head and- while still maintaining her grip on Shintaro’s neck -she lifts his head up, slamming it into the mattress, again and again and again, in the faint hopes of snapping his neck to quickly get this over with. Even with his eyes rolling into the back of his head and his arms falling limp, she can still feel his pulse under her fingers. She frowns, giving one more squeeze when she feels nails _rip_ into her upper arm-- these nails giving way to a hand grabbing her and _throwing_  her off of the bed, onto the floor below. The side of her head comes into contact immediately, the carpet not softening the impact in the slightest. Disoriented, Momo’s vision is blurry; she tries to pull herself up, sliding back down moments later when the shock of the fall affects her balance as well.

She blinks slowly, her hearing zoning in on panicked cries, near-screams. The voice becoming more distinguishable by the second turns Momo’s stomach into knots, and her eyes grow, her facial features mimicking Shintaro’s initial fear only minutes before.

“Shintaro-- _Shintaro, can you hear me?_  Oh god-- Oh my god, honey, _honey, wake up, wake up_  please! Please-- Shit... Shit. Shintaro, come on, please.”   


Hovering over his unconscious body, their mother brushes his hair out of his face, touches the bruises on his neck, places two fingers on his jugular, lowers herself just enough to place her ear by his heart, his lungs. Repeats.

And Momo- to her astonishment -listens to her mother cry over something undeserving of her tears. But Shintaro must be alive, after all, since the next thing Momo knew, her head jerks to the side with such unprecedented force she fears that her own neck would shatter. Dull, at first, but the _sting_  on the right side of her face can’t be compared to anything else she’s ever felt. Unfocused once again, she can vaguely hear her mother screaming at her; she can vaguely see her mother motion towards the bed where her brother lays, slumped over. But she isn’t paying attention-- preoccupied with one thought, and one thought only, Momo turns away from her mother, curls into herself onto the floor.

“ _What in God’s name is_ wrong _with you?_ Do you know what you could have done? Are you happy with yourself? Jesus Christ, I ask you to make sure he’s not a danger to himself, but _you’re_ more dangerous than anything he could ever do himself. Oh my god-- I might have to take him to the hospital. _Are you happy with yourself?_ If you--” Her mother cuts herself off, sends one last disgusted glare at her daughter, and climbs back onto the bed, lifting Shintaro up and resting his head on her lap. Momo can hear her praying and, truthfully, she isn’t sure whether her mother is praying for Shintaro or Momo herself.  


Deciding that staying in this room would only worsen the situation, Momo drags herself up, off of the ground, and trudges back into her room, locking the door she slumps down. Her knees pull up, and she buries her head in her arms crossed atop. The stinging in her cheek in the only thing she can feel, partly due to her mother’s nails leaving deep, budding scratches across.

She wants to cry-- wants to go back into his room and apologise, but she can’t; she won’t. She’s certain that Shintaro can live with her hating him, but her? Despite how awful her brother is- has been -he’s never... held any such resentment towards her. _Well, after you tried to kill him, things are going to change._

She stays there, motionless, for another hour, when she hears her mother outside the door. She doesn’t even knock, just beginning to speak. “He’s awake. Traumatised, but awake. I suggest you stay as far away from him as you possibly can. Tomorrow, you’re going to explain to me why you’ve turned into a monster. Good night.”

_Monster, huh? That makes two of us, now, I guess._


End file.
